


I Feel Like I Don't Even Know Him!

by MutedSilence



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Did I Mention They Were Idiots?, Eventual Happy Ending, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide, It's For a Case, M/M, Miscommunication, Parental Greg Lestrade, Protective Mycroft Holmes, Slow Burn, You Have Been Warned, couples counselling, idiots to lovers, it's sad, seriously it's sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:33:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 17,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29301972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MutedSilence/pseuds/MutedSilence
Summary: John is leaving therapySherlock needs to get into the office of a couples counselorA frantic Sherlock bumps into John as he's making his way outJohn - with nothing better to do - agrees to pretend to be a stranger's boyfriend for the afternoon. Beats going home.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 226
Kudos: 179





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter is a little dark - talk of John's mental health. I don't intend for the whole fic to be like that, although, there might be references later on. I only have the first chapter done atm. Just a warning. 
> 
> Hope you like it!

John had enough. He's been back home in London for almost three months, and what does he have to show for it? A bust shoulder, frequent nightmares, a shaking hand, and a cane dependency. He was a doctor, he knew the limp was psychosomatic, but seeing it written down by his therapist every week, really wasn't helping him. His mental health was slowly descending. 

His money was running low. The threat of having to leave London loomed over him, like the ghost of his father. With each passing day the 'coward's way out' -as his father had called it- seemed like the best bet. He still had his sig after all. No one would notice. Ella was the only person John had any obligations to. She wouldn't notice at first. It would probably take her after two missed appointments before she thought something was amiss and alert someone. His mother had killed herself long before John even went into the army. His father had died of a heart attack while he was deployed. And Harry… Harry was too busy staring down the neck of her bottle to notice her little brother. Without Ella, no one would notice. Well, maybe the student in the bedsit opposite would notice the smell… 

Ella hadn't been helpful. Telling him to make a blog. She just didn't understand. With nothing happening in John's life, there would be no content, no content means a blank blog. The blank blog would just show John how alone he really was. So, if the sound of the gun didn't disturb his neighbours, it would take about two weeks for people to miss John. 

Two weeks… 

That's an awfully long time. Is that all his life is worth? Two weeks for people to notice his absence. He fought for his country. Got shot. Saved countless lives, and all he's got in return is two weeks. He was given medals. What were they really for? They didn't make his life back home mean anything really. Maybe he should clean them. Put them out on display, nice and clean, for the person that finds him. Show them that his life wasn't for nothing. 

He came close before. The second month had been his hardest. In his first month he thought of all the things he could do after his physiotherapy helped heal him. He could go back to medicine. Perhaps become a GP. All chances of becoming a surgeon, or even working in a hospital was just a pipe dream. But as a GP he could still help. The limp was all in his head. He knew this, it was just his leg that didn't. If he could convince his leg -- then maybe he could become a functioning member of society. That thought got him up and out during the first month. The second month shattered all hope he had. His leg wasn't getting better, his hand still shook, and he was losing hope. With the loss of his dream, his nightmares became more frequent. His life had been left in ruins and he was powerless to save himself. He knew he'd have to do something soon, otherwise he'd lose his lodgings. He just couldn't afford London on an army pension. By the time the third month came around, John was numb. 

John had made the calculations on how long for his body to be discovered, while Ella was once again talking about the blog. The blog that John was  _ definitely _ going home to write. He knew it wasn't right. It was probably something he should be talking about during those sessions. If he did, he'd have a more accurate guess at how long it would take to find him. The issue however with his guesses, he couldn't tell if he was right. That thought played on his mind more than anything Ella could say to him. 

Ella let him go. Wishing him well and saying how she hoped his week went well. Reminding him of their weekly appointment. The same old. He walked out of her office, another person taking his place as he left. He walked slowly through the building. Might as well enjoy the walk. No need to rush, is there? 

As he walked through the corridor, a man in a great billowing coat swept from person to person. He grabbed at peoples shoulders and said something. Each person brushes him away. The man went to the next person just to be brushed off again. The building had a few counselling programs on offer. John knew that there was a family counselor as well as a couples counsellor just on the same floor as Ella's office. The closer the man drew, the more John heard. 

"Will you help me?" 

John walked faster. His gaze set on the man as he asked the same question to a nearby woman. The woman pushed past him. Hurrying away as the man looked around for another person. His gaze locking on John's as he walked with intent through the corridor. The man seemed frozen as he watched John draw closer, seeming to know that John would help. 

_ Why not? Might as well help one more person... _


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock knew he was right. He knew it. There was no way that the killer could be anyone else. It had to be the counsellor. Only she could have done it. Lestrade wouldn't listen though. Why would he? He said he wouldn't talk to Sherlock if he showed up high again. And what did he do? In his defense, he really didn't think Lestrade was being serious. 

He had been taken off the case. Cast out of Lestrade's office, and hauled into a black sedan where his brother was waiting. He was banned from cases and placed under house arrest until he was sober... That doesn't mean he can't get around his brother's security team however. He got out, and he got to work. Going back to the yard was clearly out of the question. This time - Sherlock didn't feel like calling Lestrade's bluff. He decided the only thing he could do was catch her himself. Without the help of the yard. 

Her office was on the second floor. She had a colleague who worked next door. They seemed to be… chummy. He made an appointment under  _ Holmes _ . At least if someone asked where he went, he'd have a very good excuse. Seeking therapy. Trying to better himself. Become a functioning member of society. 

Functioning members of society take a hit before attending the appointment, right? Right? 

His appointment was in less than ten minutes when he crowded into the waiting area. Slumping in the chair and looking around at the other people waiting. In hindsight, that's when he probably should have noticed. He was surrounded by couples, each one with some kind of issue. Of course they had an issue, why else would they be here. 

The receptionist tried to get his attention. Waving over at him until Sherlock looked at him. "Sir, is your girlfriend on her way? Cutting it a little fine." The receptionist gave a slight uncomfortable chuckle. Looking around the waiting room discreetly as if this mystery woman would jump over and claim the man in the long coat. Sherlock had another look at the couples surrounding him. All eyes had turned onto him. 

Couples. Of course she's a couples counsellor. 

Sherlock's first instinct had been to call Lestrade. Surely he wouldn't mind pretending for the case. Then again, Sherlock isn't supposed to be here. Not to mention how close his brother is becoming to the detective inspector. Might make the situation a little awkward.

Sherlock took another look around the room. Desperate for a plan.  _ Nothing. _ He sprung from his seat and left the room. He was down to the last few minutes before his appointment. He couldn't cancel. There would be no guarantee he'd get the right counsellor again. He also couldn't go in alone. Bit not good going into a couple's session alone. Or maybe, that's what he needs, show how bad the relationship really is… No. No it would be too loose and his plan would fold. 

Out of sight of the office, Sherlock threw himself at the closest person. Stopping them in their tracks. He knew what he must have looked like, but he was in no position to make pleasantries. "I need your help, can you be my partner-" They pushed away from him. With a slight growl, he pressed onto the next person. Then the next.

"Will you help me?" Sherlock saw a flash of concern flicker over her eyes. Her hand came to rest on his elbow as she gave over her attention. "I need you to be my girlfriend. It's for-" She stormed away. His mental clock was reaching zero and he couldn't even get someone to talk to him. 

A man towards the end of the hall looked straight at him. Their gazes locking. The man walked faster, his limp becoming less pronounced as he walked closer to Sherlock. He could see it. Stood there, he could see the military background on the man. Could see the desperation in the man's life. Could see how he was coming to help Sherlock. 

The man stood in front of Sherlock. His jaw set and shoulders squared. "What's wrong? Can I help?" 

Sherlock looked down at the man. Down at the determination that was settling into the man's fierce gaze. "I need someone to pretend to be my partner in a couples counselling session." He expected the man to leave. He waited a few seconds. The man stayed. Sherlock pressed on. "I'm a consulting detective, only one in the world, I have an appointment in a few minutes with a suspect. I need to get close and get the evidence against her. This is my best shot." 

The man nodded along with what Sherlock was saying. Surely he'd leave now. Not only did he look crazy, he sounded like it. "I'm John Watson. I am a veteran of Afghanistan. Trained surgeon. Invalided home. I'm 32. Anything else my boyfriend needs to know?" 

Sherlock stood in stunned silence. He shakily took the man's -- John's -- hand in his own. "Sherlock Holmes, 32. I can make that work." He pulled John towards the waiting room. 

This was going to be fun. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think. 
> 
> You can find me as https://mutedsilence.tumblr.com/


	3. Chapter 3

The room was small. Most people would call it cosy, well John called it claustrophobic. The therapist had a mahogany desk and matching chair. She was perched in the chair like a vulture eyeing her prey. Her chair had been placed in front of her desk, making the already small room, seem so much smaller. 

John had sat next to the mystery man - Sherlock - on the sofa. Much like the room, it was small. Probably to bring the couples together, John thought distantly. He also thought of how he was in over his head. 

They were close together. Closer than two strangers should sit. Although, they seemed to fall into it easily. Sherlock was undercover - that much John knew - but for John, it seemed normal to sit so close to him. The counsellor was making a few notes before the session could begin. She turned her attention towards the men on the sofa. Plastering a clearly fake smile on her face. John had been to enough therapy sessions to know  _ that  _ look. 

She cleared her throat, "So, Mr Holmes?" At this Sherlock nodded. He introduced himself and then gracefully introduced John to the woman, nodding again for her to continue. "Sherlock, John how long have you been together?" She tilted her head to each man as she spoke. 

Her pen was poised. Sherlock seemed to freeze at this. John realised how last minute his plan must have been, Sherlock seemed to not know a thing. John took over, "About six months? Yeah, about that. I was on leave and that's when we met. I was away for three months, then I came home." Sherlock seemed to relax slightly with the answer. The therapist - John hadn't gotten her name - made some notes. 

She looked at Sherlock, turning towards him slightly in her chair. "And you think this has caused some problems?" Sherlock looked towards John. He seemed to not know what to say. It was strange, he seemed all confident when they walked in, then he just shifted to a nervous and shy person. This was not how John had imagined the strange man when he agreed to help. Sherlock possessed an all in charge manner. John looked over him. His doctor's eyes assessed, a thin sheen of sweat was spread across Sherlock's brow. 

Sherlock still kept his gaze on John. His attention focused intently on the man beside him. Neither of them seem to take in the therapist across from them. 

John is certain he can see a slight panic in Sherlock's eyes. Something so small. Something he is certain only he can see. He reaches across and takes Sherlock's hand in his own, giving it a gentle squeeze. Sherlock blinks and lets out a steady breath. His gaze finally breaking to fall on the hand on his own. He tightened his grip, interlocking their fingers and looked up at the therapist. John doesn't look away from him. Watching as he speaks to the therapist. 

He catches small parts of what is said. He still feels concern over this man. "Bumped into each other… couldn't take my eyes off him… only a week… perfect… got shot… he came home, different… I didn't take it too well… PTSD… I can't give up on him." 

The words hit John with a force he didn't expect. 'Give up' that's exactly what he had done. He had given up long ago. For some reason, hearing a stranger say he won't give up on John made him feel better. Even if he knew it was just for some police case. He briefly thought about trying, for this stranger. For Sherlock. But, it was just a case. It was just work, he didn't know John. He didn't know he had given up. 

Sherlock's eyes locked again with John's. He gave another squeeze. John tore his attention away from the man. The therapist had been speaking apparently. "John? How do you feel about what Sherlock just shared?" 

John had a talent. An amazing talent where he could read notes upside down. It really came in handy with Ella, and it really helped with this. The notes were rushed and spread across the page in no obvious fashion, but he could still decipher it. Sherlock had said how he felt John was being more vacant and distant as time passed. John felt as if Sherlock actually knew him. A strange feeling washed over him. He knew he was being distant, more adrift as the time passed. He looked back at Sherlock, "I'm sorry. I'm trying, I really am. I just feel useless now. My entire career was torn away, everything I've ever worked for. I want to try." 

He didn't know why he said it. He didn't know why he was being honest. He didn't know why he had said more in the space of half an hour to a man he just met, than in the three months he had been seeing Ella. Sherlock's hand tightened around his. Keeping him grounded on Earth. They looked into each other's eyes. Taking in everything about the other. It was weird. It… it was right. 

"That was amazing! An amazing breakthrough for our first session! I'm so proud of you two, now, time is up, but I'll see you next week. Same time." 

The words broke through the private bubble they had created for themselves. Pulling them both to the surface. They stood and thanked her, although John wasn't sure why. They walked out the building in silence. Walking side by side. Sherlock still held onto John's hand. John didn't complain, it fit. It fit in a way he hadn't been able to in the three months he had been home. 

They stood outside the building together. Sherlock turned to face John, their hands still clasped. "Thank you. That was… that was good. Really good. Will you be okay for next week?" 

John smiled up to Sherlock. All his plans for the rest of his life - forgotten in the mist of Sherlock's eyes. "I had a therapy session at the end of the hall just before. You could meet me?" The words seemed to reach his ears and John started to panic slightly, back peddling just in case he overstepped. He wasn't sure why it would be an overstep. He just knew it was closer than two strangers should be. "If you want to, that is. You don't have to. I'll just meet you at the appointment it's -" 

Sherlock broke in before John could carry on tumbling over his words any further, "Okay. I'll meet you there, John." 

They kept looking at each other. Neither willing to look away. Sherlock opened his mouth to speak again. At that, a shout startled both men. Someone shouting Sherlock's name. Sherlock's eyes slid shut and he let out a breath. 

Sherlock turned to look towards the origin of the sound. John looked and saw a black sedan, the door was open, but he couldn't see anyone. He looked back at Sherlock. Then, Sherlock leant down and planted a soft kiss on John's cheek. Whispering in his ear, "I'll see you next week, John." 

With that he was gone. Leaving John outside the building as he climbed into the car and let the trap close around him. 

John walked home in a daze. His mind still stuck outside the offices. Still stuck on the point Sherlock had kissed him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're liking it.  
> I'll be getting the next one up soon.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock climbed into the car and was met by not just some minion of his brother, but Lestrade, and his brother as well. All eyes were on him as he climbed in. Even the minion had looked up from her phone to see him. It didn't last, she soon looked back down towards her phone. Sherlock tried to come up with a name for her, he liked doing that. Trying to guess what name she could have come up with. He never got it right, but it passes the time. 

Two lines of questioning come at the same time, 

"Who was that?" From his brother.

And, "Why were you outside Jess Hogan's office building?" Courtesy of Lestrade. 

Sherlock could have sworn he only had one brother… 

He slumps in his chair and looks over at his captors. Adopting a tired expression as he tried to fight the withdrawal coursing through his veins. Their faces are set. Their expressions had turned to stone and, as the saying goes, if looks could kill. He was in for it this time. Mycroft tried again. Seething through his teeth as he spoke, "Who was that, Sherlock?" A flame had been set behind his eyes. Sherlock couldn't tell if it was from his sneaking out, or being with someone his brother didn't know. 

Oh. That could work. Trying his hardest to look aloof, Sherlock turned towards his brother and the detective inspector. "That was John. His therapist is there, we're a couple. I said I'd meet him." 

Lestrade looked as if he had been doused in cold water. His jaw dropping as he stared at Sherlock. Ever since knowing him, Sherlock had never shown any interest in anyone. No one had ever caught his attention. Back in the beginning, Lestrade had tried to ask. He tried to find out what Sherlock liked after he didn't notice some woman flirting at him. Well, he had his answer now.

Sherlock was gay, he was okay with that. Never thought much of it, really. He could pretend to be interested in a woman if the need called for it, but if by some miracle, Sherlock thought of settling down, it was with a man. It was what it was. He never cared much, he certainly didn't understand why other people would care. The only reason they should care is if they want to get with that person. And since, neither Lestrade nor Sherlock wanted to be together, it didn't matter to him what or who Sherlock liked. 

Now though, the cat was out of the bag. Sherlock had just come out to Lestrade, and Lestrade was struggling to process it. Which didn't make any sense, it wasn't as if Sherlock tried to hide it. 

Mycroft. Ah, now there might be an issue. He was fuming. His face had become slightly red as he ground his teeth together. Sherlock sat up, tensing as he looked at his brother. He couldn't tell who he was more worried for, himself or John. That was new. He never really cared for others, especially not when faced with his brother's fury. A tightness formed in his chest. Rising like bile to his throat. 

"Name." It wasn't a request, it was a demand. A demand that was hidden behind a false smile. The name was on the tip of Sherlock's tongue. His brother could do many things, Sherlock was already under house arrest, but his brother could make it so much worse. Typically, he'd spill. Tell mycroft whatever it was he wanted to know, just so that he could keep a small luxury. 

He knew it, he knew he'd lose the cigarettes. Mycroft was 'kind' enough to let him keep them while in his house. They helped to keep Sherlock going. Stave off the boredom, make the time between his hits easier. 

He said nothing. 

The name John Watson was trapped behind his teeth. Cradled around his heart. He couldn't tell anyone why. He shook his head and turned away. Trying to figure out how far away they were. 

Nothing was said the rest of the journey. Sherlock could feel all eyes on him. 

The car pulled up outside Mycroft's home. They all started to climb out. Sherlock caught the minion's eye. Pleading with her to not help Mycroft. He had an overwhelming sense that he had to protect the man. 

Before he could be caught by his brother - he would never raise his voice in public - Sherlock ran through the house and straight to the guest bedroom he had been given. Shutting himself inside. It was useless, he knew that. 

Mycroft burst into his room. He had shed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. Sherlock sat on the bed. Bringing his knees to his chest and resting his chin atop of them. Several men in suits came in after his brother. They began their search. Looking for anything. Drugs, alcohol, cigarettes. They took it all. Mycroft stood in front of the bed. His men stood around the room holding the loot they had found. One of them hands Mycroft a tablet. 

Mycroft looks at the tablet, scrolling and reading through it quickly. "I do hope John Watson is worth it," He knew how stupid it would be to keep it from Mycroft. He never had an issue commandeering the government's security to check up on his little brother. "You will eat today, you'll be coming down and you know how hard it is on an empty stomach." Then he left. His suits in tow. 

Sherlock collapsed on the bed, lying on his side with his knees still against his chest. 

The door opened again. Sherlock listened as the person drew near. Lestrade. He sat on the edge of Sherlock's bed. He always did have a soft spot for Sherlock. "I promised to meet him after his appointment. He's got me one." His voice was small. His head had begun to hurt. Mycroft was right, coming down from his high on an empty stomach was a bad idea, but he wouldn't go and eat. 

Lestrade shuffled on the bed a little. His hand came to rest on Sherlock's shoulder. "If you can behave and follow your brother's rules, I'll get you out so you can meet him. Deal?" 

Sherlock turned to face him. Looking up at him, searching him for any sign of lying. Lestrade always had Sherlock's best interests at heart. It was strange, he never knew how to respond to them. He gave a weak smile. The man was only a few years older and yet, he treated Sherlock as if he was his father. It was… nice. 

Lestrade didn't stay for dinner. He does sometimes, helps Mycroft with the cooking and trying to coax Sherlock into eating. Sherlock came down for food, he didn't eat much, but he felt an unusual feeling that he needed to detox properly this time. Mycroft had greeted him - clearly not expecting his presence at the dinner table. 

Mycroft would help him to detox. He would always help, doesn't matter how bad Sherlock had gotten, Mycroft will help him get better without question. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like it! I'll get the next one up soon. Let me know what you think. 
> 
> As always, I can be found as https://mutedsilence.tumblr.com/


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John meets Mycroft, and reacts as any British man who hasn't had his tea would react. Perhaps Mycroft should have offered him a snickers...

John walked with a spring in his step. Well, as much as a spring as he could muster with his cane. He felt alive. For the first time since he was shot and shipped back to England, he felt alive. And it was all down to the tall stranger that had stumbled into his life. 

When he arrived home, he no longer felt the regular pull. This time he reached for his laptop. Typing two words into the search bar, 'Sherlock Holmes'. His website showed almost instantly. 

John spent the entire night reading over every entry on the blog. He didn't even notice as the sun fell and rose again behind his curtains. 

He wasn't one to go out. He didn't have anywhere to go, or anything to do. On the rare occasion he did go out, it was for his therapy appointment, or to do a quick shop. He would walk. It was cheaper and helped exercise his injured leg. He'd come home exhausted, but feeling as if he had done something. 

It took John until the day before his back-to-back therapy sessions to leave his bedsit. He wasn't generally happy, but he finally felt as if he had a purpose. He was even looking forward to seeing the mysterious Sherlock again. 

He walked to the shops, a short list crumpled in his jean pocket. It would only take him fifteen minutes to walk to the shop from his bedsit. The second he left his bedsit, he felt that something was different. He couldn't explain it. Probably the fact that he was excited for his therapy - that was a new feeling. Then again, that wasn't quite right. He didn't care about  _ his  _ therapy appointment. He was excited for the couples session. 

Still, even with the explanation, he couldn't understand why he felt different. 

It hit him after he reached the half-way point in his journey. The black sedan had been sitting outside his building when he left. And if he just… The black sedan was following him. He brushed off all thoughts of Sherlock and his therapy sessions. He was being followed, he was a soldier - and a damn good one. How did he not notice being followed? 

John kept walking, not looking at the car, but aware of its presence. The person inside the car had no way to tell John would be going shopping today. Hell, he didn't even know. It was only when he saw he was down to his last few tea bags that he decided to go out. So, that meant one thing. He was being followed for an undetermined amount of time. They would have been watching - somehow - to see when he would leave. That also means… the use of cameras are not feasible… so… 

_ Ah.  _

He was to be kidnapped at some point. 

John was a soldier. He was aware of this. He could get himself out of any tricky situation, or he could certainly try damn hard. 

He moved to the side of the path and stopped. Out of the way of other pedestrians, he turned to face the car. A bored expression on his face as he looked at the car. It pulled up in front of him, John stepped forward towards the car. Sending a little wave to whoever was behind the blacked-out windows. The door opened. "Get in Doctor Watson." 

He complied. 

John was driven out to a deserted warehouse in the middle of butt-fuck-nowhere. He was starting to get annoyed. The woman beside hadn't said a word to him, hadn't even looked at him. John hadn't had his morning tea, and he was being interrupted for…  _ theatrics _ . By all means, kidnap him, just be polite about it. No need for ignorance, they could have waited until he had his tea at least. Now when will he do his shopping? 

The car pulled up inside the building. A man in a three-piece stood waiting. Leaning on an umbrella of all things. John took his time getting out of the car and walking towards him. "Take a seat, Doctor Watson." 

John bit back a laugh as he stood in front of the man. A smile tugging at his lips as he shook his head and leant on his cane. Was this man for real? He shifted his stance. Silently challenging the man. 

"Your leg must be hurting Doctor Watson, do take a seat." The man raised his umbrella to point at the chair that had been set out. 

John wasn't stupid. It was a power play. This man needed John to sit down so he could feel superior. Although John was smaller than the man, that didn't mean he couldn't try at intimidating the man right back. He was a Captain for Christ's sake. "So, what is this then? How long have you been waiting for me to leave so you could take me? Was it all week? I do have a phone, I could give you my number so you don't waste all that petrol."

The man's expression turned murderous. John just smiled at him. This only seemed to anger the man further. His nostrils flared as he tried to school his expression. Tried to present an indifferent mask. His attempts only made John smile more. A laugh held in the back of his throat. "You don't seem very frightened." 

At this, John did laugh. Only a short bark that echoed around the empty building, "You don't seem very frightening." 

He could tell from there, this man was hardly ever crossed. No one talked back to him. No one dared stand up to him. "What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?" His expression calmed and he looked down at his umbrella. 

"What's your connection to Sherlock Holmes?" The man looked up at John, clearly not expecting the question repeated towards him. His mask seemed to fall revealing his shock, before he hastily placed it back together. 

" _ That  _ is none of your concern." An edge had become more prominent in his voice. An edge that anyone else would have taken as a caution. 

John was not one of those people, "So, that's one thing we have in common. I'm really craving my tea now. She'll drop me at the shops, yes?" John threw his thumb over his shoulder. Pointing at where the car had been parked. Without waiting on an answer, John walked back towards the car. Calling over his shoulder, "I do have a phone, you can phone me - on my phone." 

The woman looked at John this time. Her jaw slack as he climbed into the car beside her. She was staring at him, her thumbs hovering over the keypad on her phone. John flashed her a smile and looked out the window. 

He was dropped at the shops and wasn't followed on his walk home. It was a shame - they could have helped carry the bags. 

* * *

He wasn't sure how much more he could take. Ella was talking about the blog again. He knew he shouldn't have opened his mouth. He knew he shouldn't have said about his life. He never does, nothing ever happens to him. 

"I met someone. He's amazing, I don't know him well, but I really like him. I think we could be friends. I'm seeing him after this. Not sure how long we'll get together - he'll probably get kidnapped again." 

Ella saw this as a perfect blog entry. She also expressed her disappointment that he hadn't written it up. She did, after all, check on his blog before every session. He had even written a sarcastic comment on there once, 'Happy now? Look Ella. I'm writing my blog.' She wasn't pleased during their next session after that. 

She tried to talk to him about Sherlock - but the truth was, as much as John wanted to talk about him, he didn't know anything about him. He knew his profession and that he had to be a genius. That he had some insane man in a suit obsessing over him. That he was tall, handsome, spoke in a posh manner that said 'Oxbridge', and walked with a grace John could never rival. 

When he stood to leave, Ella gave him a knowing smile. The issue was, John didn't know what it meant. She smiled like they both knew what was really going on, but John didn't. 

He stepped out of the office and was replaced by the same guy that was always there. He brushed past John in the same way he always did. He went to step out of the office when something caught his eye. Make that - someone. A tall, curly haired someone. 

Sherlock was sitting at the end of the waiting room, smiling at John. With the grace that John remembered, Sherlock slid beside John. Together they walked to their appointment. For a second, John forgot that he knew nothing about the man. Forgot all about Ella. Forgot all about the man in with the power complex. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think. 
> 
> I love hearing from you!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is detoxing and thinking of John.   
> Honorary Dad Lestrade shows his support.   
> Moving forward with the investigation.

Sherlock felt like shit. Put simply. He went cold turkey, locked away in his room. Mycroft and Lestrade had come to check on him, but he hardly noticed. He cut everything. Not taking any type of stimulants. He said as such to Mycroft over dinner, before the withdrawal truly started, "I want to get better. Please." Mycroft understood. Mycroft always understood. 

Sherlock hardly even challenged him. Didn't leave his room, took any and all food that was given. After the second day, he gave in. Told Lestrade where his hidden stash was. Lestrade had agreed to dispose of it without telling Mycroft, no questions, no judgement, no consequences. He brought over some cases for Sherlock - but he couldn't focus on them. They sat on the desk in the corner of his room. 

A week later, Sherlock got out. Lestrade had spoken to Mycroft. Sherlock didn't ask what he said, but Lestrade gave him a lift to the building. 

Mycroft had disabled his phone as well as his debit card - all funds suspended. That was to be expected. What wasn't expected, was Lestrade handing him a £20 note. Sherlock looked at him, quirking his eyebrow as he looked over Lestrade. "Take him for some fish and chips. You've done well. I'll come over for dinner tonight to make sure you're okay." A rare, genuine smile spread across Sherlock's face. 

Lestrade was one of the only people Sherlock knew that would actively defy his brother. Sherlock wasn't allowed money - especially not cash. Mycroft made certain of that. It was times like this, that Sherlock thought he wasn't alone. Lestrade had nothing to gain. If anything, he was sticking his neck out for no reason other than seeing Sherlock momentarily happy. 

With a sincere 'Thank you', Sherlock climbed out of the car and rushed to find John's therapist's office. It didn't take long. 

* * *

Inside their session with Jess, Sherlock tried to look around while she spoke. His eyes exploring over every detail on her desk. John shot him looks, a question in his eye. Jess was talking about how important it was to go on regular dates. Something about keeping the spark alive. 

There was a stand with pamphlets beside her desk. Sherlock looked over each one. Just as Jess was about to get into how thier sex life is, Sherlock jumped in. "Do you have any leaflets about PTSD? Some information that we can look over together at home. Perhaps another therapist that John could see on his own." 

Both sets of eyes turned to him. Jess seemed affronted, annoyed at being interrupted as she spoke. John just looked lost. Clearly confused how John seeing a separate therapist would do to help Sherlock with his case. 

Jess turned to look through her pamphlets to see if she had any. There wasn't. Sherlock knew this. She made a humming sound as she looked. Turning back towards them she gave an apologetic smile, "No, sorry. I could have a look in the other offices, or what we have behind the front desk?" 

Sherlock smiled gratefully at her. Taking hold of John's hand. "If you wouldn't mind," She excused herself and Sherlock sprang up. "John. Watch the door." Sherlock started tapping at her laptop. His fingers moving at lightning speed over the keys. He looked up to see John looking through the crack between the door and the frame. Sherlock reached for his phone. Only, he didn't have it. Mycroft took it. "John. I need your phone." 

Without a backwards glance, John tossed his phone over to Sherlock, keeping his focus on lookout. Sherlock scrambled for a phone charger and connected the phone. Transfering all the files over to John's phone without looking at them. He shut it all down and motioned for John to sit back down. Falling back into their previous positions on the sofa. John's hand in his own. The phone slipped into his jacket pocket. 

Jess returned no more than two minutes later. A small stack of pamphlets in her hand. She spoke about each one as she handed them over, before they knew it, they had run out of time. 

Sherlock placed each one into his pocket and took John's hand. Guiding them back out of the office much like he had the previous week. 

He handed John his phone back when they got outside. As he reached into his pocket, he felt the money Greg had given him. John was still looking at him, the question was still held in his eyes. 

Sherlock took a deep breath. "Um, John, I have some money and um… do you maybe want to get some chips? I know a good place. Then after, maybe if you don't mind, that is, come back to mine to work on the case?" He was sweating. Why was he sweating? It didn't make any sense. It was the logical thing to do. It was John's phone that held all the information. His laptop was at home. He couldn't just take John's phone and leave him. Although, that's exactly a thing he would do. Something he would do to anyone. Only Lestrade, Mycroft, and Mycroft's minions had been in Sherlock's room. And he hardly had any say in that. 

John smiled up at him. "I'd love to." 

Sherlock eagerly smiled back. Leading the way to the chip shop he had promised. A warm feeling resting in his chest as they walked. It was just past one in the afternoon. Perfect time to avoid the lunch rush. Mycroft would be expecting him, he certainly will be waiting for him. He had taken the day off when he found out Sherlock would be leaving the house unattended. Lestrade would be working until five. He would then go to Mycroft's and help him cook dinner. Dinner would be at six. Which was good, that gave Sherlock five hours with John. His smile grew even wider. 

He opened the door for John and stepped in. Walking up to the till and ordering two fish and chips. Carrying their food - along with a can each - Sherlock led John to the park so they could sit. Sherlock found an unoccupied bench and settled down, handing John his food and can. 

An overwhelming sense of calm flooded through Sherlock's mind. 

"So, Sherlock, tell me about yourself." They shared stories about their lives. It was surprisingly easy to talk to him. He told John all about his brother, how he had to stay at his house, how much of a pompous arse he could be. John told Sherlock all about his sister, how her addiction had cost her marriage and how it was just them left. 

They had long since finished their chips, but they kept talking. Sherlock told John about some of his cases. John listened in rapt attention. 

After almost three hours, Sherlock stood and began to walk John back to Mycroft's house. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love getting feedback from everyone. Really glad you're liking it. 
> 
> As always, https://mutedsilence.tumblr.com/ there's some ramblings if you want it.


	7. Chapter 7

All of John's problems seemed to fade as he sat and spoke to Sherlock. He knew this. He'd felt this before. Back when he joined the army, he fell for a fellow soldier, not the best thing. He got over that. It could never last. John had resigned himself to a life alone, and he was okay with that. 

But sitting there, besides Sherlock as he spoke about his last case, John knew he was falling. As he told Sherlock about his army days, he knew it could never happen. Sherlock deserved the world and John couldn't provide that for him. John would be happy just to be considered a friend. 

They began a slow walk. Sherlock was leading John to his home and John felt giddy. He was a grown man for god sake, he couldn't be feeling like a teen with a crush. But that's what he was, wasn't he? Just another fool in love.  _ No, not love. _ He shook himself as he walked beside Sherlock. He was in the middle of a fascinating tale, talking through all the deductions he had made that helped him with the case. There was a poison used to kill someone, Sherlock had a vast knowledge of belladonna. He was talking about how useless the police were. 

Sherlock sighed and looked down, shaking his head slightly. "So, did you catch the killer?" John was captivated. The tale was good enough for a Doyle novel. 

His head snapped up and he looked John in the eyes. A smile spread across his face but didn't meet his eyes. "No, I didn't see the end. I was… busy and had to step away from the case. Lestrade caught him without me." They fell into silence. Not an uncomfortable one, but not comfortable either. John knew there was something Sherlock wasn't saying. 

A house came into view. It was nondescript, blending in with the surrounding homes. Sherlock started digging in his deep pockets for his set of keys. Sherlock opened the door and let John step through first. A few coats had been hung on a rack by the door along with a collection of umbrellas and hats. Sherlock hung his coat and took John's, placing it besides. John followed as Sherlock walked through. 

The house was spotless, spacious, and perfectly decorated. There were paintings on the wall, each one meticulously hung and equally spaced. It certainly wasn't what John imagined when he thought of Sherlock's home. The man screamed chaos. 

They walked through what John assumed was the living room and stepped into the kitchen. A pure white island took over the centre of the room. A man was standing on the other side of the island, his back turned as he made tea. He was dressed in a smart waistcoat, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. 

Sherlock was about to lead John further into the house when the man turned to face them. His eyes met John's as his lips shifted into a scowl. His tea abandoned as he pulled himself to his full height. 

Laughter bubbled in John's chest as poured out. The man's scowl intensified; Sherlock looked between them curiously. John pointed towards the man, then at Sherlock. Between gasping for breaths, John managed to get out, "Power complex is your brother!" 

Sherlock turned to face the man. Glaring at him and breathing steadily. John calmed and looked between the men. "He kidnapped you," The statement was directed at John, but his eyes never left his brother. "What was the reason?" John couldn't tell if the question was for him or the man across. Sherlock tilted his head, his focus remaining on the man. 

John shifted beside Sherlock. His brother drew in a breath through his teeth, then leant against the counter. Their gaze never wavering. Sherlock's cold hard stare managed to break the detached stare his brother was giving him. He sighed and looked down. "I needed to meet your  _ boyfriend- _ " the word was spat out, "- and monitor if he was worthy." The brother's eyes flicked to John before settling again on Sherlock. 

The tension in the room was still stifling, but it had become less so. "And… did he pass your test, Mycroft?"  _ Ah, that's his name _ . 

Mycroft looked towards John. Narrowing his eyes, a sneer breaking over his face. "No." it came out as a drawl. His eyes flicked back over to his brother. Sherlock stuck out his hand and took John's in his own. The fingers wrapped tight around. Mycroft's eyes zeroed in on the clasped hands. A slight tug and Sherlock was leading John away. 

He followed in silence, leaving the brother to watch their retreating backs. An open door was at the end of the hall, they stepped through, letting the door close behind them. Sherlock dropped his hand as flickered around the room. Grabbing his laptop and collapsing on the bed. 

The room was spacious, but the mess and clutter made it seem smaller. Piles of books could be found on every surface - several loose papers poking out from within the stacks. There were even a few books on the bed beside Sherlock. The bedsheets had been kicked, crumpled, and laid to rest at the foot of the bed. A desk was pressed against the wall. A light oak colour that had been covered in burns, stains, and scratches. A well-used microscope sat on top of the desk, a slide still under the lens. John wondered what Sherlock must have been working on before he left for the appointment. 

A shuffling on the bed pulled John from his musings. Sherlock had picked up all the books that littered his bed and created a new pile on the floor. He slid to the side and patted the bed, in an invitation to join him. John climbed onto the bed beside Sherlock - looking over his shoulder at the laptop. John took his phone from his pocket and passed it over, letting Sherlock do whatever it was he needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's just a filler really, but it shows their friendship growing.   
> Been super distracted lately. Hope you liked it!!  
> Not sure how far to draw out the friendship before the romance comes in. If you have any ideas, I'd love to hear.   
> Feedback is always welcome.   
> Find me as https://mutedsilence.tumblr.com/


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock go for chips together, before working on the case.  
> John meets Lestrade.

Sherlock was angry. He just wasn't sure if he was angrier at himself for not realising, or Mycroft for being… well, Mycroft. John hadn't seemed too bothered by it. In fact, he seemed to find it funny. Laughing at his brother's expense. He'll have to talk to  _ Andrea? Cleo? Lisa? McAllister?  _ Whatever it was now. He'd ask her for the footage, there's bound to be footage. Mycroft is too controlling to not have footage from at least three angles. 

He had collapsed on his bed with his laptop in hand. John had remained standing where Sherlock left him, looking around the room. He looked… curious rather than with the disdain he was used to when someone came in. When John didn't move, Sherlock collected the books that had been scattered. He had been reading the night before. He had fallen asleep in the middle of the book, leaving all the books around him. He didn't mind. 

John joined him on the bed, passing over his phone and reading over Sherlock's shoulder. 

As the files were being transferred from John's phone to the laptop, Sherlock looked at the phone. It was clear it was from his sister, Harry. John had spoken of Harry while they ate chips, although he didn't say much about her. A few stories from their childhood. He looked over the details -  _ deep scratches around the power connection, caused through alcohol rather than clumsiness. The inscription, Harry left her wife. John didn't talk about any of that.  _

The files finished downloading and Sherlock opened them. Most of it was client information. Sherlock made a mental note to skim through - just in case anything was relevant, otherwise, it was useless information and a waste of space. The pictures and all personal aspects were the most important. 

Together they searched through the files for hours. At one point, Sherlock heard Lestrade arrive. He could hear his brother and Lestrade talking and making dinner. He hoped he wouldn't be made to eat, he was much too comfortable - not to mention, full from the meal he had with John. So far, all they had was one picture that included the victim.  _ It just wasn't enough. _ Going by the time stamp, it was taken the day before they died. 

The picture was grainy and had the victim in the centre of the frame. John pointed out how the picture looked like a 'standard tv stalker pic'. Sherlock realised that he had a point. The picture had been taken, clearly from a distance and the taker had zoomed in on the victim. It was slightly blurred from where they were most likely moving, or trying not to let passers-by see them take it. All it told them was that Jess was probably following the victim the day before. Sherlock knew that they knew each other. 

Sherlock opened up the emails. Searching through everything. Most was just scheduling -  _ Not important. _ A few promotions…  _ Nothing important. _ He started searching through social emails. He could see that she had signed up to several social media platforms through her work computer.  _ Probably doesn't have a personal computer - does all work through the one computer. _

They keep digging. John had taken his phone and was searching through the files on there, while Sherlock worked on his laptop beside him. They hardly spoke as they worked. 

The noises from the kitchen quietened. He could still hear Mycroft and Lestrade talking, but the clatter had stopped. He could no longer hear the quiet hum of the oven. He looked towards John. His nose was still buried in the phone - looking over the pictures. Sherlock had handed John a file with all the information he had. Lestrade didn't know that Sherlock had it. He stole it while Lestrade was distracted. 

_ Lestrade _ . 

He could hear footsteps, the voice getting louder. Sherlock jumped up, practically throwing the laptop down on the bed. John looked up at him quizzically. "I'm not supposed to be working on this," Sherlock hissed towards John. His hand rose and he pointed towards the door to try and get his point across. John wasn't following, "He can't know I'm on it, he doesn't believe it's her." 

John looked towards the door, following Sherlock's pointed finger. Sherlock grabbed his laptop and rushed across the room. Trying to move as quietly as possible. 

A shout came from behind the door, "Sherlock!" He stilled. Staring at the door.  _ Shit. _ John stood and walked across to the door. Sherlock tried to catch his attention. Tried to right his room. Tried to act natural. 

John stood behind the door and took off his jumper. Sherlock stopped and watched him, still trying to catch his attention. John threw his jumper on the floor beside the bed, then moved to remove his shirt. That soon joined his jumper. Sherlock started, laptop and papers ignored in his hand as he watched. A knock on the door sounded through the room. Another call of his name. John undid his trousers and messed his hair. His hand reaching for the handle. John had plastered a smile across his face as he opened the door a fraction. He positioned the door so only his head poked through. 

"Hello, I'm John." Sherlock watched. He was out of view. Tucked away safely in his room. He looked over John's appearance, not exactly clear on what was happening. 

He couldn't see Lestrade, but he could hear him. "Oh! Um, sorry. So, you're John, glad to see it's going well. Uh, well, there's plenty of food if you want it." Sherlock could picture Lestrade. He hears the embarrassment in his voice, and therefore, sees it in his mind.  _ Why would he be embarrassed, John is the one half-naked -  _

_ Oh! _

He could hear the shuffling of feet from behind the door. Lestrade drawing in a breath followed by more shuffling. "I'm Greg by the way, Greg Lestrade. I'll leave you to it. Yeah." John shut the door after sending Lestrade away with a slightly raised hand. Sherlock stared at him. His mind racing over what he had just seen. 

John redid his trousers and collected his shirt. After having his shirt back on, John sat back on the bed, picking back up where he left off. 

They found it in the end. A singular email that tied Jess to the crime scene. It wasn't much. Just an agreement on when and where to meet. Sent to the victim - then promptly deleted. It was just what they needed. 

They had her. They finally had her. It made Sherlock giddy. The game was on. John looked just as excited as he did. 

John collected the rest of his things, preparing to leave. "You can stay, for dinner. I won't be eating much - still full from the chippy." Sherlock was seated on his bed while John pulled on his jumper. 

"Nah, it's okay. I probably won't eat tonight. My leg is… well, I should head home and rest it. Got some heat rub on my bedside table that's sounding really appealing right now." He let out a slight chuckle. Sherlock blew out a huff in an attempt at laughing. John didn't seem to mind. He stood to walk him out. John took a large step to stand in front of Sherlock. He untucked Sherlock's shirt and let it hang. Taking the silky fabric between his fingers and bunching it up in some places. Sherlock just watched. John's hands came to his hair and ruffled his carefully placed curls. Letting them fall in disarray. "That's better." He spoke under his breath. Mainly to himself. 

Sherlock walked him to the door, seeing him out. 

Lestrade and Mycroft were seated at the island in the kitchen. They hardly ever laid the table. John and he had studiously ignored the stares as they walked past to the door. This time, Sherlock kept his head down and tried to ignore them as they watched him walk towards him. He tried. He really did.

Sherlock looked up to see the brilliant smile that had taken up residence on Lestrade's face. Then His brother. A scandalised expression rained over him. Sherlock walked faster and slammed his door. Full of intentions to ignore them both until he could get Jess behind bars. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like it!!  
> I've planned out over 20 chapters for this. I'm planning some angst. I'm not sure how tp end it yet, all depends on if I decide to change the rating, or get another idea. I'll work it.  
> I don't actually know if Mycroft and Greg are together in this. I guess it's just up to interpretation...  
> As always, https://mutedsilence.tumblr.com/ that's the website I use to write my mutterings.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's back in therapy. Sherlock decides to try and question Jess Hogan

John had never felt more alive in his life. He had been waiting for the therapist appointment. Excited about life, and,  _ dare he say it _ , excited about seeing Sherlock again. He would have preferred to see him during the week. Meet up a few times, or even just text. But Sherlock had told him that he didn't have a phone - something which struck John as odd, he imagined Sherlock to have several. As he thought of it, he was almost certain that it had something to do with that brother. 

Sherlock had been stripped of his freedom. He was reluctant to just show up unannounced, although he almost did when a walk was leading him in that direction. 

John was hooked on Sherlock. 

* * *

When John sat across from Ella, he couldn't contain his smile. He was practically vibrating. All he had to do was get through this, then he could sit beside and talk to Sherlock again.  _ God, how he'd missed therapy.  _

Ella eyes him. John tries to smother his smile. "You haven't updated your blog," Well, that worked. He no longer struggles to smile, the frown takes over his face easily. "If you updated your blog, I wouldn't have to ask why you're so happy." 

John lets out a breath, sagging against the chair.  _ Of course, she would bring it back to the blog. _ She tilts her head in silent questioning. John knows she won't give up. The last time he was there, he mentioned Sherlock, but he didn't have anything to say. Now? Now all he thought about was Sherlock. The stories Sherlock had shared, the life Sherlock led, the fact such a brilliant man had invited John into his life. Ella shifted through her notes. Turning back to their previous sessions. "Is this shift in mood to do with the mysterious man you met?" 

_ No getting past it. _ A small smile broke out as he thought about Sherlock. A smile he unsuccessfully tried to stifle. Ella saw it. 

He took a deep breath and sat up straighter, "He took me for chips. He's amazing. Bloody brilliant! He works with the police - not officially of course - he thinks they're all idiots. And, my god! Compared to him, they really are. Everyone is. He told me all about his cases, his life. Last week he even met me after I came here. He'll probably be out there now. Waiting for me. Me? Why me? He could have anyone he wanted and he chose me as a friend. We went back to him to work on one of his cases. Turns out the man that kidnapped me was his brother-" At that, she tried to interject, John just bulldozed over. Suddenly unable to stop talking about Sherlock. "- He stays at his brother's place. We worked together for hours in his room," John finally seemed to notice the look on Ella's face. 

A soft smile was playing at the corners of her eyes. Her notepad had been placed against her crossed leg. Her pen was forgotten. She held no questions in her gaze. It had been the most he ever said to her, in the entire time he had known her. This was what Sherlock did. John had gone for a walk every day, just in case, he managed to run into Sherlock.  _ Ridiculous - he was aware. _ But the way Ella was looking at him, it was like how she had before. The week before, when John thought she was in on a secret John wasn't privy to. "What?" He cocked his head. Looking at her. Trying to read the notes she had made. 

Only, there weren't any notes. 

"You sound smitten, John." 

The words crashed over him. He knew that he felt a connection to Sherlock, but surely he wasn't smitten. He made a friend. It had become a deep friendship quickly. That was only natural - given the headspace John had been in when they met. Anyway, how could someone not like Sherlock? He was fantastic. 

Ella was still looking at him. Her features were unmoving. She didn't even try to change the topic, or direct John to anything else. They just sat for the remainder of the session. 

Sherlock was waiting outside the office. John didn't even try to hide his smile. 

* * *

Sherlock's leg was bouncing beside him. John could see he was probably winding himself up for an attack. Back in Sherlock's room - he had said all they really needed was a confession. John assumed Sherlock would try and get it during their session. 

They sat in the same positions on the sofa. John absently noticed that each week, they got closer to the middle and therefore, each other. 

Jess was going through her notes from the last session. Bringing herself up to speed on where they were going that day. Sherlock leant forward, his hands clasped as he rested his elbows on his knees. He was staring at her. Jess looked up, her eyes darting between Sherlock and John - trying to work out what was happening - looking to John for advice. John couldn't help. He was doing the same thing, looking between Sherlock and Jess, holding his breath in anticipation. 

Sherlock sucked in a breath. His clasped fingers stretching out before his palms connected and settled under his chin. His hands moved slowly - Jess looked incredibly uncomfortable. Sherlock smiled. A blatantly fake smile. Jess shifted in her seat. Her eyes locked onto Sherlock. "Max Gillespie." 

_ Two words _ . 

Two simple words and Jess' eyes widened in horror. Sherlock's smile grew. Jess' mouth opened and closed. Grasping for an escape. In the small room, she was trapped. Sherlock's head tilted, "Why did he have to die, Miss Hogan?" 

She seemed to find some words, albeit, the wrong words. "I don't know what you're talking about." John fought back a snort, something Sherlock didn't try. Her eyes narrowed at him as if she actually thought she could get away with her denial strategy. The shock of the situation seemed to break. Sherlock reached into his pocket and pulled out a card, passing it over to John without looking at him. His eyes hadn't left Jess. 

It was a simple card, 

Gregory Lestrade

Detective inspector, NSY

01632 960131

gregory_lestrade@nsy.co.uk 

John took out his phone and started a text.  _ Best not to call a detective inspector while the criminal is in front of you.  _

**Jess Hogan is on the verge of confession. She basically has, just by body language.**

Sherlock was still talking to Jess. "Now, correct me if I'm wrong, although, I do doubt that. You saw Max in the office - probably picking someone up, he never did see you personally. You became infatuated and started to follow him. Not much to get caught, just enough to satisfy your needs. You're lonely-" He was cut off by Jess throwing her notes at Sherlock. 

She ran from the room, Sherlock took up the chase. John looked down at his phone. A singular text lit up the screen, 

Sherlock!?! I'm going to kill you! I'm on my way - you better be right -GL

John shook his head, grabbed his cane and made his way out of the office. Moving as fast as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent so long going through past chapters and my notes for what the crime Jess committed was. I completely forgot that I hadn't actually written about it. So, that was fun. I ended up making a generic crime of passion.   
> Hope you liked it!! Going to be getting a little angsty now. Probably. Most likely. Things are going too well for our boys, so, as a writer, I am obligated to make things hard for them.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The game is... something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Throws a chapter at you all*   
> Enjoy   
> *Crawls back into my blanket fort to drink tea*

Sherlock took up the chase - he didn't expect her to throw things at him. He left John back in the office as he went after her. He tried to shout - calling for people to stop her, but they tried to stop him instead.  _ Why try to stop him? She's the one -  _

_ Ah.  _

_ Bit not good, a man chasing a woman for no apparent reason. _ He was surrounded by morons. He kept trying to chase after her, even if he was being grabbed by people. Hands grasping around him, pulling at his coat. Sherlock shucked off his coat - he'd come back for it. He couldn't let her escape. The arms continued to snake around him, he squirmed past, stumbling as he ran. 

He drew closer. She had made it to the main reception. Security stood dumbfounded - watching the two people as they ran towards them. She called for them to stop him, he called for them to stop her. He was so close… 

She made it outside. Beefy arms grabbed hold of Sherlock, stopping him in his tracks, pulling him to the ground. Sherlock tried squirming away. The security guard practically laid on top of him - pressing him to the cold floor. He tried to speak. Explaining that SHE was the criminal and they couldn't let her escape. They were having none of it. A particularly vicious deduction about the security guard's infidelity was on the tip of his tongue when a gruff voice sounded. "Detective Inspector Lestrade! Let my consultant go!" 

The man above froze. His head turned to see Lestrade stood with Hogan in one arm, and his badge in his outstretched palm. He looked done. 

Sherlock was freed from the sweaty man's grasp. 

Lestrade handed Hogan over to Donovan. They stood -  _ Probably waiting for the evidence against her. _ They all moved out the way of the entrance. Lestrade's hands came to rest on his hips as he watched Sherlock. His eyebrow quirked as he looked over Sherlock. Hogan had stopped struggling with her handcuffs, stopped twitching within Donovan's grasp. they all watched Sherlock as he tried to catch his breath. 

Sherlock twirled around, John hobbled out of the building, breathing heavily and holding himself up with his cane. He held Sherlock's coat under his other arm. Sherlock stuck out his hand, "John, Phone!" With slight grumbling, John passed his phone over to Sherlock and dropped his coat to the floor. 

He took the phone and turned to face Lestrade, thumbing through the files until he found the ones they had collected. He handed the phone over to Lestrade.  _ Now, for the part, he loves more than anything -  _

Sherlock stood up straight, drew in a deep breath, and spoke. "Miss Hogan here has had her heart set on an untouchable man. Not just any man. The man as I'm certain she would feel. Max Gillespie's sister was in therapy. She suffers from a severe anxiety disorder and attends the therapist whose office is just beside Miss Hogan's office. She has been visiting the therapist for several months now - almost a year. Not really important is it, Miss Hogan- '' at this, he gestured towards Jess momentarily before continuing, "Except that Max, has been visiting his sister. Dropping her off and waiting for her to take her home. Jess could see him. She saw him all those months ago. She became addicted to seeing him, but could never actually speak to him. She would watch him through the windows. She had become completely infatuated with the man. Miss Hogan had taken days off to follow him. She was careful, very careful. She only took one photograph of Mr Gillespie. That became her downfall. Stupid really. She had called in sick that day, followed Max and just couldn't help herself," Sherlock had been pacing, he was enthralled in his own storytelling, "She saw something she didn't want to see. Max, had a partner. Not just any partner. No, no. Max was gay - we knew that. She, however, did not. Max had met his partner and they both noticed Miss Hogan was following them. Obviously unnerved. Max had noticed you before, not much, just enough to know he was likely being stalked. They got your email and tried to solve the issue 'in house'. You got angry, lashed out. Lestrade the email arranging the meeting is there, as is the photograph. I can have John forward it. All you need is for her to sign the confession." 

Sherlock took the phone from Lestrade as they walked Jess away, reading her rights aloud. With a wide grin spread across his features, Sherlock twirled around to where John was standing. 

Only, he wasn't there. 

Sherlock looked around, many people had gathered around, none of them happened to be an ex-army doctor with a limp. The phone was still clasped in his hand as he spun on the spot. His eyes scanning the area. 

Scratching the back of his head as he looked, Sherlock walked towards Lestrade. Throwing his coat over his shoulders as he walked. Lestrade was climbing into his car - Donovan in the passenger seat and Jess in the back. Lestrade looked up to him, not bothering to hide the confusion on his face. "Have you seen John?" Lestrade looked around them. As if Sherlock just happened to not see him. Sherlock continued to scan the area, Lestrade gave a quick look over and shook his head. Climbing into the panda car, leaving Sherlock to his own devices. 

Sherlock walked around, looking for John among the now dissipating crowd.  _ He just… vanished? _ One thing for certain, John wasn't outside. He stepped back inside the reception, looking for where John could have gone. The security guard was eyeing him. Still looking around, Sherlock stepped towards him. "Did you see a man in his early 30's, short blond hair, cane and -" 

The security guard cut him off, he was pointing at Sherlock and shaking his finger repeatedly as he nodded, "Yeah, yeah, short fella init? Yeah, went off shakin' his head while you were chattin'." The man tipped his head in a general direction. Sherlock followed the man's gaze. 

With a half-hearted 'Thanks', Sherlock took off in the direction he had been pointed. 

His eyes scanned the area as he jogged.  _ Where the hell did he go? He missed the arrest. _ Sherlock's knuckles had turned white around the phone in his hand. John's phone. 

He kept jogging. Stopping occasionally to ask if anyone had seen a certain blond man with a limp. No luck. A few people could give a vague answer, "Maybe that way." So, Sherlock went 'that way'. 

No avail. 

He kept looking for an hour. Seriously considering calling in a missing person report.  _ He did still have John's phone.  _

_ No! You can't.  _

It hit him with such force that he stopped dead in his tracks - ignoring the irritated mumbles of the people around. He couldn't just say that John was missing. They would ask his boyfriend where he lived so they could check. They would ask Sherlock where John lived so they could check. A fact Sherlock didn't have. They never spoke much about John's current life. He could tell anyone about John's childhood - filling in the gaps with his deductions - even tell them all about his army days, but nothing about the man now. 

Things were different for Sherlock now. Now that he had a 'boyfriend'. Mycroft wasn't as overbearing - well, about certain things. He was overly interested in Sherlock's 'love life', but he no longer cared if Sherlock disappeared for hours on end- as long as he came home sober and before dinner. Lestrade was proud of him. He even tried to get Sherlock more freedom so he could go and visit John more often. Something he hadn't done, because as mentioned - Sherlock hadn't the foggiest as to where John lived. Another thing about John… Sherlock was happy. Actually happy. 

_ What exactly would he say? "You know my boyfriend, John? Yeah, well, he's not actually my partner - we only got together so I could work a case and he'd have something to do. Anyway, I seem to have lost him. Literally. I have no idea where he is. Can you help me find him so I can regain the closest thing I've ever had to a friend?" _

Yeah. Not going to happen. He most certainly couldn't bring it up with Mycroft or Lestrade. The ridicule he'd get from the Yarders as well. He visibly shuddered at the thought. If they knew that Sherlock was in a fake relationship for a case, they probably wouldn't care. But the lengths that Sherlock had gone - tricking everyone, creating the appearance of sex, continuing the charade out of the confines of the case… Wanting him back. 

He couldn't do it. 

He couldn't let anyone know it was all for show. He was already the 'freak'. He didn't need to add 'sad' or 'pathetic' or 'lonely' to those. 

_ Oh. That was new. 'Lonely'. Was he? How would you know? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the longest chapter so far. It took me a while to edit, but as always, let me know if you spot anything.  
> Hope you like it. Getting into the angst now, I guess.  
> I'll try and get the next one out soon. I know what's going to happen up until the ending - I'm drawing a blank there. It's just a matter of remaining focused on one thing for longer than 20 seconds.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where John went during Jess' arrest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise extra chapter for today. It's only short, but it explains why John vanished.   
> Bringing the angst for you guys.

As John made his way trailing behind Sherlock, he could hear the shouting. Sherlock's coat had been lying on the ground, John scooped it up as he hobbled by.  _ Daft git. _ John couldn't keep the grin from his face. 

He eventually caught up, winded and quite frankly,  _ bloody thrilled _ . Sherlock, with his ever-present grace, spun to face John. A smile on his face. That smile was contagious. John could feel the blood pumping through his veins. 

It faded. 

The adrenaline dissipated with one line, "John, Phone!" 

John stood there. All his fears crashing over him. The ice from Sherlock's tone, filling his system. The thoughts he had fought hard to smother. The coat slipped from his fingers as he handed the phone over. Sherlock didn't have a phone. His brother would never allow it. John hadn't questioned it. Now he saw it. 

They had become friends. The first proper friend John had since he was invalided home. He could admit to himself, if not anyone else, that he was actually happy to be near Sherlock. He felt more alive than he had in a long time, and he knew that it was down to Sherlock. 

Well, at least John thought they had become friends. At that moment, Sherlock couldn't give a rat's arse about John. He did it. He solved the case, he got the criminal caught. John had served his purpose. 

Sherlock had started talking. His lightning-fast analysis faded to white noise as John looked around. Everything seemed to fall around him. Suddenly aware that the world was in fact spinning. He could feel it. The sensation coursing through his bones as he stood watching. He looked at the gawking faces, everyone pointing. Chins wagging behind hardly concealing hands. He couldn't do it. He couldn't stand there as Sherlock's… Sherlock's…  _ Sherlock's lackey. _

He shook his head in an attempt at banishing the thoughts. 

It didn't work. 

He started walking home. Sherlock still had his phone.  _ Didn't matter. Not really. That's all Sherlock wanted really. Not John had anyone to call. Not like John had paid for it - it was pay-as-you-go anyway. No strings. No point. _ People moved easily for him as he walked towards them. Standing to the side, their eyes never leaving Sherlock. John felt sick. Lestrade hadn't even offered him a second glance. He probably knew. Knew that it was all for show - he was a detective after all. Not that John knew that. He didn't know until he was handed the card. Not properly at least. He just assumed Greg had been family in some way. He wasn't to judge. 

His mind became darker as he made his way home. 

His leg had pains shooting through it. 

His shoulder was tense. 

His chest was tight. 

John made his way home. The second his door had closed, he collapsed on his bed. Letting the blanket cocoon around him. Letting his mind fall into the fog.


	12. Chapter 12

Sherlock found himself in his usual seat. Waiting for John to leave his appointment. John's phone nestled safely in his breast pocket. That pocket had become its permanent home over the past week. 

He tried, he couldn't find John. He spent all day, every day going for walks in a desperate attempt at finding John. He had to go out. He had to find him, but he couldn't let anyone know something was wrong. He hadn't slept that night, the night John - for lack of a better word - vanished. Sherlock should have been happy that he solved the case, that he was right, that a criminal was behind bars, and that a puzzle had been solved. All that was made redundant when he couldn't share it with John. 

His mind had been plagued with all things, John. Everything about John had taken over Sherlock's mind. It had been consuming him from the inside out. His mind was overrun. 

The day after John's sudden  _ vanishing _ , Sherlock bolted out. Roaming the London streets for the man. He returned home, and in turn, to bed. He didn't eat, just thought about why John had left. 

He couldn't figure it out. John didn't think of him as a freak like others. He even thought of John as a friend and hoped John felt the same. 

Mycroft had made him eat breakfast as he tried to dash out of the house. He choked it down and rushed away. Back to roaming the busy London streets. Back to trying to find John. He ended up at home alone in bed. 

A week. A whole week of looking, just hoping they could cross paths again. After all, that's what brought them together. His last attempt would be showing up where he KNEW John would be. He would be at therapy, in the same place he had been the same time every week for almost four months. Sherlock had even come up with a plan, when John came out of the office, he would hand back the phone and ask John for chips. Worked last time. 

He waited. 

The ticking clock taunted him. 

John would leave the room at any minute. Sherlock would pounce. Make sure he hadn't actually ruined the friendship. The first friendship he could really care about. His leg was bouncing uncontrollably. He counted the seconds. 

_ He would open the door...now. Okay… now? Maybe, now?  _

Sherlock looked at the time. John should be here. John should be flashing Sherlock that brilliant smile as he walked closer. Nothing. 

The door opened and Sherlock's back snapped straight. His hand reaching towards his breast pocket. A woman's head popped out from the doorway. She nodded towards a man. Sherlock recognised him, he was the man that would rush past John as he came out. The door closed. 

Sherlock stood and went to the receptionist. Sherlock pushed all deductions away as he blurted, "Where's John?" 

The woman looked up at him, her eyes narrowing in faint recognition. She gave a slight nod as she seemed to figure out what the conversation was. "He never showed. Make sure he's okay will you?" 

Sherlock felt numb. 

John hadn't shown in the one place he was guaranteed to show. His mind was racing.  _ He's avoiding me. _ Being the main thought. Sherlock stumbled out of the office. His legs carrying him as his mind flew to great heights. He had done it. He had ruined the first relationship he could care about.  _ John finally realised how much of a freak Sherlock was. Probably happened while he was giving his deductions. Slipped away before Sherlock could notice - easier on both of them… supposedly _ . 

His feet had directed him to a rougher area he used to frequent. It took a lot, but he stopped moving. Reaching to steady himself on a brick wall. His head was spinning. His stomach-churning. He couldn't do it. 

He knew where he was. The last time he ventured to this part, Mycroft had picked him up not three roads over. Sherlock had been picked up by a broken man. More broken than he had been in a while. He slipped down the wall - to hell with how the bricks reacted with the fabric of his clothes. 

Sherlock thumbed open John's phone, going to contacts and finding the message John had sent to Lestrade a week previous. Panic had settled in the pit of his stomach. An overwhelming sense pinpricked from beneath his skin. The phone was dialling in his hand. Lestrade's voice croaked through the speaker. 

"Lestrade."

"Greg?" 

"Sherlock? Oh, god, what's wrong?" 

Sherlock never referred to Lestrade by his first name. Always some alternative or just 'Lestrade'. The only time he ever used his actual name was when he was in some kind of trouble that he couldn't speak of. It was like a code that they had created - without Lestrade's knowledge. He'd always understand though. 

Lestrade demanded where Sherlock was, what had happened. Another thing they had, Lestrade wouldn't tell Mycroft unless it was necessary. Unless Sherlock was in serious trouble. Mycroft would find out eventually, but it had become a foundation of trust between them. 

With a promise that he was on his way, Lestrade hung up. Sherlock slumped further against the wall. A feeling of worthlessness slowly filling his body. He had chased away the only friend he had and he didn't even know how he had done it. 

* * *

Lestrade found him and took him home. Sherlock had collapsed into his bed. Burrowing down deep within his blankets. He delved into his mind - going through the brief time they had together before Sherlock had ruined it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually had the next 5 chapters done and ready - just a little editing.  
> Buuuuut I had an idea and am now adding more angst. So, I'm rewriting them. *Evil laughter that turns into soft sobbing* 
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you think. Come talk to me, or not. I don't mind. https://mutedsilence.tumblr.com/


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's only short, so I added another short chapter.

John had fallen back into his old routine. He hardly left the house, only leaving for essentials before racing back home. He never saw anyone. It was better that way. He couldn't bring himself to visit Ella. He just wasn't sure how he'd react if he opened that door and Sherlock wasn't waiting for him. 

_ He had, somehow, completely messed the whole thing up. _

Truth was, John had gotten rather attached to Sherlock in the short time they had known each other. It was ridiculous, he knew that. He told himself everyday. He realised what it was, after a week of being alone, he knew. When he was with Sherlock, he was back on the battlefield. When he was with Sherlock, he was alive again. 

It wasn't like Sherlock didn't know how to find him. His brother had followed him. Mycroft had probably given over all the information Sherlock needed. And if not, well, Sherlock was a genius, he could probably deduce the area just from the mud on John's shoes. This all led to one thing - Sherlock didn't want to know anymore. 

It hurt. Hurt more than he'd like to admit. John's purpose had been fulfilled. It was time to move on. Time to get on with whatever he had left of his life. However long that happened to be. 


	14. Chapter 14

Lestrade had found Sherlock and of course, came to the wrong conclusion. He thought John had broken Sherlock's heart. Well, while he had hurt Sherlock deeply, he wouldn't say he was heartbroken. He wasn't a naive child. But, credit where credit was due, Lestrade had convinced Mycroft to stand down. Convinced him to let Sherlock deal with it by himself - "If Sherlock needs help, he can come to us for it. We are not to interfere. I don't care about anything you say. You will leave him to it. Buy him ice cream, like a proper big brother." Sherlock had been given a tub of his favourite mint choc chip ice cream that night. 

Sherlock closed himself away. Mad at himself fro chasing away the only person that called him "Brilliant" and "Fantastic" without prompting. The only person that cared about him - cared about him for no reason. Or, at least he thought. It was all a play. He knew that. And yet, it hurt. 

John knew where Sherlock was staying. Of course, he knew, he'd been there. They had fun, it was good. Mycroft wouldn't be able to turn John away. Sherlock had watched the kidnapping tapes, he knew that John wouldn't hesitate to stand up to Mycroft. 

Which led to one conclusion…  _ John doesn't want to know you anymore.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 14, the return of the sad bois.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Author arises surrounded by destruction and fire* Did you miss me? 
> 
> Um... so, I have actually written like another 8 chapters or so. I just sort of... forgot to post them. Uh, whoops🤷🏻   
> Anyway, this is the return of sad boi hours, I'll be editing and rereading the next chapters and hopefully remember to post them.   
> I'm not entirely sure how to end this fic, so if you have any ideas -it will be happy- I'd love to hear them.   
> Enjoy

A month had passed before John had even noticed. He avoided any area he and Sherlock had been. Ella had left many messages on his blog - the blog he refused to update. He could only imagine the number of times she had tried his phone just to be cut off. John had long since stopped paying for the phone.

He had woken covered in sweat after a particularly bad dream. Tears threatened to spill as he gasped for air. His throat was hoarse. He tried to swallow around the dry lump that had formed, tried to swallow back the sob that was rising. Within his dream, he had been on patrol. Back in Afghanistan, back in the heat, back in his life, back to his security and purpose. The pack was heavy against his back. The sun was blistering his face and covering his body in a thick sheen of sweat. His men were joking around him - he could hear their laughter echoing in the background. The sound carried through to fill his bedroom. It wasn't the only sound. Gunfire and explosions had followed through to ring in his ears. Sherlock had been there. Sherlock was always there now. Unprotected. Bleeding out where John couldn't save him. He would watch as Sherlock's last breath was taken, as the light left his brilliant eyes.

The image shook John. It would taunt him through the day. It wasn't the first time he watched Sherlock die in his arms. It certainly wouldn't be the last. 

He swung his legs from his bed, letting the sheet fall to the floor. John pushed himself up, limping towards his kettle. The sheet clinging around his legs in a futile attempt to keep him under the Afghan heat. John moved in the early morning sunlight to make a cup of tea. Making it strong enough to drown out the dark images his mind had conjured. 

He could hear his father in the distance after the sounds of war had faded. He always heard his father when he dreamt of Sherlock. Always heard the words he had imprinted on John's mind. The words that had been screamed at his sister. The words that lost him his sister. The words that were turned on him later on. The words that secured his place in war. 

His father was a formidable man. Even after being dead for so many years, he left an impression on everything John did. Harry had left and moved in with her then-girlfriend when they were young. She was brave. She did what she had to do, she fought against their father. John was not brave. 

At the loss of her daughter and hatred from her husband, John's mother had turned to the bottle. It was after all, what the Watson's were best at. His father drank, his mother drank, and -as John later found out- Harry drank. They found comfort in the bottle rather than in each other. It was that philosophy that had made his mother meet her demise. She couldn't take it anymore and got out. John was left alone with his father. He had nowhere else to go. He wasn't brave like his sister.

John was 17 when he displayed an interest in a fellow student. It was in his Biology A-Level class, he was seated next to David. They became fast friends. John spoke of David all the time, they were inseparable. His father didn't take too kindly to his new friend. That's when the words came. The screaming and shouting as John stood letting the words sink in. His head down - eyes focused on his clasped hands in front of him. 

John shook himself away from the memories. A singular tear held in the corner of his eye. He sipped at his luke-warm tea. 

* * *

The ghost of his father hung around the room. Crowding him. Suffocating him. 

_ He had to get out. _

John left for a walk. His cane pounding against the path as he bounded away from his bedsit. Letting his feet carry him away from the words that clung in the air with the sole purpose of bringing him down. 

He had been walking for some time when he noticed where he was. He was retracing the steps he had taken with Sherlock all that time ago. With great effort, he dragged his feet away before he drew too close to Sherlock. Too close to the point of no return. The ghost of his father whispered in his ear. 

As he turned and stalked away, he heard the comforting sound of his mother. She didn't talk to him as much as his father, but she showed up every now and then. Calling towards him, like a siren of the sea. John let her lead him away from Sherlock.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I obviously can't compose, so when you get to that part, imagine a good song. Then image that he's playing that.

Sherlock had to be honest with himself, he was sad. He didn't understand why, but he was saddened by John not being beside him. He often found himself looking to his side to see John, only he wasn't there. They had only known each other briefly, but during that time, Sherlock felt a strong connection that he had never felt with another person. A strong connection that he wasn't sure he could get back. 

_He just didn't understand… and he hated not knowing something._

Mycroft had been annoyingly sweet. An adjective Sherlock would never have pictured in relation to his brother. _As a noun, perhaps_. Lestrade had been more present. Bringing case notes for Sherlock - both cold and active. At one point, he even gave Sherlock a packet of cigarettes. All of the items were placed on his desk and were left untouched. 

Sherlock had shown up at the therapist's office every week. He needed to see John again, but he refused to go to his brother. He couldn't stand to see the smug face that he knew would cover Mycroft's features. It would drive him insane. Not to mention being indebted to his brother. Something he couldn't be. Mycroft would never let him forget it. Sherlock was already in debt to his brother for the help he received at getting clean. Getting him a place in rehab - more than once - finding him when he had too much - too many times to count - and giving a place to stay. 

The freezer now had an overabundance of ice cream. They could open their own shop with the amount Mycroft had ordered in. Sherlock hardly ate it. Well, Sherlock hardly ate. The plates would be placed in his room and left his room, looking almost completely unchanged. 

* * *

Sherlock was standing straight as he played his violin. He was composing. He loved to compose, but he hardly had the emotional output that was required. Now? Well, the notes fluttered around him. His bow slid against the strings. The emotions flowed from his body as he swayed to the music. He thought of John. The friendship that had grown in their short time together. The song started happily. A bubbly composition that rose in energy as he played. It was the longest composition he had made. The irony was not missed. The song dipped. A melancholy sound filled the room. Sherlock's eyes screwed shut as he played, as his anger and sadness rose, so did the tempo… Allegro… Vivace.

A sound from behind and the bow came to a screeching halt on the strings. Sherlock's arms went limp, his hands falling and letting the instrument hang from his hands. His eyes were still shut as his head flopped down. He could hear the movements behind him, _l_ _ooking over the items on the desk… moving towards the bed… ah, springs_. 

Sherlock places his violin on top of one of his piles of books. He watches it for a few seconds as the pile sways slightly, then turns as when it poses no threat. Lestrade was seated on Sherlock's bed. _He had clearly rushed over from work, he's not finished though so why…_ Sherlock's heart sank slightly, Lestrade was giving him a pitying expression. _Something had happened. The only explanation. Not Mycroft, he would know long before Lestrade. Then, who? John?_

Seeming to sense Sherlock's growing panic, Lestrade clears his throat. "You need to get over this. He doesn't deserve you. It's been a month, Sherlock. The files have been left untouched, and now you're writing sad music. You are coming on this case with me. I'll give you the details in the car. Get ready. Now." 

_The incorrect conclusion from incomplete data. Stupid._

Sherlock looked into Lesrade's eyes. He knew there was no getting out of it. With a huff of breath, Sherlock began to dress. Throwing on whatever clothes were littering the floor. Moving around Lestrade - who had not moved from his position on the bed - he reached under the pillow to take out John's phone, slipping it into his breast pocket. 

He followed Lestrade from the room. 

Mycroft must have been working from his home office. As they walked past, Mycroft came to stand in his office doorway, nodding towards Lestrade as he passed. It was ridiculous. _He wasn't a child._ Sherlock was aware of his brother's eyes following him as he left the house.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a short chapter, but it sets the scene for the following chapters.

John's feet carried to Russell Square. He could remember playing in the park as a child. His mother would sit and watch as he and Harry played It. That was before things got bad. He walked aimlessly through the park. Casting glances at the other visitors. 

His leg was starting to hurt and John decided to not waste the last of his energy dragging his leg around. He nodded to no one in particular and set his sights on his bedsit. No matter how depressing it was there. Even though he knew his father's ghost would still be there, he commanded his feet to take him back. That's when a voice called. 

"John!"  _ Ah, no. Not today. Head down, they don't know you.  _

"John!"  _ Nope, not me. Keep your head down, don't make eye contact with anyone, you may just be able to escape.  _

"John Watson!"  _ Shit. _

John turned to where the shouting was coming from. A plump man was jogging slightly towards him. He contemplated pretending his name wasn't John as he drew closer. The man held out his hand, a fading smile across his face. "Mike, Mike Stamford. We were at Bart's together." The recognition hit John square in the chest. He and Mike had been good friends. They would study together. They had lost touch when John went into the army. 

A catch-up was overdue. Mike suggested coffee and John let the smell of coffee lure him away from the waiting ghost. 

He was hardly listening. Only enough to seem polite. Mike knew, of course, he knew, John was thankful he didn't point it out though. They spoke of nothing and everything all at once. 

Mike was a teacher. He was talking about something or rather when a noise caught John's attention. 

From the other end of the park - two men were chasing a teen. John craned his neck to see better. John couldn't tell the teens' age from that distance. The man immediately behind was tall with… dark… curly… hair. Sherlock. Without a second thought, John jumped up. Letting his take-out cup fall to the floor as he ran towards the commotion. Letting his legs take over, the power he hadn't used since he was on patrol. He drew closer and saw that the teen was fast. Lestrade was trailing behind Sherlock, he was panting, losing his speed. John joined the chase behind Sherlock, running as if his life depended on it. 


	18. Chapter 18

Lestrade told Sherlock about the case on the ride over. There had been a series of burglaries that the residents hadn't been able to figure out with their security footage. It had turned sour when the husband found his wife dead. The security tapes had once again been cleared. The police suspected the husband.  _ Dull. Not even a four. _ Sherlock had slumped against the window, hardly listening to Lestrade. 

All eyes were on Sherlock as he arrived on the scene. Officers spoke behind their hands as he walked past them.  _ So, news of the supposed break-up got out. They're all idiots.  _ Sherlock continued to follow Lestrade into the house. It was a well off house just outside of Russell square. The family were wealthy and liked to flaunt it. 

As they walked through to the living room, Sherlock took in the scene. Anderson was kneeling beside the body of the wife. Donovan was standing interviewing the husband. Another family member that hadn't been mentioned was being spoken to by a woman in child support. The teen was only 15 at most. Sherlock ignored the outrage that came from the husband, ignored the snickering of Anderson. He walked towards the teen. His eyes flicked to look up at Sherlock before falling back to the surrounding police. 

Sherlock had already solved the case. Like he said, Not even a four. The teen had been selling the 'stolen' items, using a friend - probably partner - so they could both leave. The teen was emotionally abused by his parents and needed to get out. A way to do that was to collect as much money as he could and fast. He'd pick the items after pricing them up and his friend would meet him in the night to collect the items to sell on. Only, it went wrong. The wife had woken and caught them. In a panic, the teens reacted.  _ No.  _ It wasn't him. It was his accomplice. He knows where to find them, but won't share the information as they know they'll get into trouble.  _ Idiot.  _ The longer he protects his friend the harder the punishment. 

It was written plainly on the boy's face. The husband didn't know anything. He was just unfortunate enough to find the body after the teens panicked. The knife the police are looking for - the teen hid it after his friend ran.  _ So simple _ . 

The police had started to clear out. The husband was being taken in for questioning. The son had to wait behind for child protection to arrive. The teen had gone to sit outside, Lestrade was watching over him as his previous handler had stepped aside to make a call. 

Lestrade was eyeing Sherlock. He hadn't said a word the entire time. Usually, he would spill his deductions as they came to him. But this was just a kid. A kid that had, quite frankly, fucked up his attempt at getting away. His friend must have been in a similar situation at home - their desperation to get away clear from the outcome of the night. 

Sherlock came to stand by Lestrade. The boy was seated on the brick wall outside his house, his head down looking at his hands in his lap. 

"Come on, spill." 

Sherlock looked away from the boy to see Lestrade's eyes staring at him. Casting another glance at the boy, Sherlock turned, directing Lestrade to follow his movements. His deductions came in a hushed tone. A soft "Jesus" from Lestrade punctuating the end. 

Sherlock and Lestrade turned to regard the boy but were only met with an empty wall and the fading sound of feet hitting the floor.  _ Shit. You shouldn't have tried to protect him. _

They both ran. Chasing down the teen, who was surprisingly fast. Sherlock heard Lestrade shout, the officers around shouting out commands as well. Sherlock paid them no mind as he tried to gain ground on the teen. He had chosen to run through the park. More people to dodge - _ clever- _ more chance of being stopped by a stranger - _ not so clever. _

The feet behind him were faltering. Lestrade wasn't used to long-distance sprints. He kept pushing, but Sherlock knew he wouldn't catch the kid. The footsteps faded further back, Sherlock pressed forward. He was close. A painful stitch forming in his side. The kid wasn't too fazed, his footsteps only faltering slightly. 

Lestrade's pounding feet drew closer. Suddenly heavier and more confident. Sherlock didn't let up. He pushed further. If the kid gets away, things could go bad for him. 

The feet were right on his tail. Close to passing him. Steady practised breathing could be heard with the feet. Before Sherlock could figure out it wasn't Lestrade, a blond head came into view as he was passed. 

Sherlock stumbled slightly as his mind registered that John had taken up the chase. John. John had come to help. Momentarily he thought his mind was playing tricks on him. That was until the blond figure lunged at the teen and brought him down. 

John was pinning the kid to the floor. His doctor eyes checking over for any injuries as his soldier instincts held him down safely. Sherlock came to a stop - his breath coming in gasps as he held his side. He felt like he could throw up. John's eyes rose from the boy to search Sherlock. 

As Sherlock looked down at the panting John Watson, his mind came to a screeching halt. The force of the realisation forced the rest of the air from his lungs. 

Sherlock Holmes could not live without John Watson. 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.

John looked up at Sherlock. A weight lifted from his body. The analysing crystalline eyes looking down at him. Those eyes that were now filled with life. Sherlock was alive. John could have sobbed on the spot, for the past month, he had only seen Sherlock's death on repeat. John forgot everything at that moment.

The kid had stopped struggling and John helped him to his feet - keeping hold of his arm. 

John and Sherlock stood across from each other. It felt as if a chasm had formed in the short space between them. All they needed to do was step across. Step close to each other. Close the gap. John hadn't tried to think of how much he had missed Sherlock. Tried not to think of how he had desperately wanted to hear Sherlock's laughter again. Tried to ignore the overwhelming sense of worthlessness that returned when Sherlock left.

The sound of another pair of feet hitting the floor pulled John forward. Casting everything to the wind, John took the leap across the chasm. Lestrade catches up and stands looking at them both. The teen slips from John's grasp as he hands over control to Greg. He distantly heard the sound of handcuffs as he took another step. 

Sherlock moved faster than John could have seen. His arm is extended in front of him. A phone held in his hand. John looked at it. It was his.  _ Sherlock kept the phone? Why?  _ Gingerly, John reached between them to take the phone. Honestly, he couldn't give two shits about the phone. It meant nothing. Sherlock could keep it for all it meant. But… John was touched that Sherlock had kept hold of it for a month. His throat seemed to close over as his heart tightened. He looked down at the phone in his hand. 

A throat cleared and forced John's eyes back towards Sherlock. Their eyes hadn't even met before Sherlock had swept past John. He had taken the teen from Lestrade and was walking him away. Leaving both John and Lestrade in his wake. 

The tightness in John's throat and chest shifted - it became painful. Almost too much to bear.  _ He left. Not even a thank you. No acknowledgement. Of course not, he solved his case, that's all that matters. That's all that matters. _ A stinging had formed behind his eyes. The tears threatened to fall as he took in the rejection. Being left behind by Sherlock on the case. 

John suddenly became aware of Greg's presence. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the defensive stance of the man he hardly knew. He would consider Greg a friend. They didn't know much, well anything, about each other - but he felt like the type of bloke you wanted to be friends with.  _ Perhaps ask him out for a pint. Find out what's up with Sherlock. Get out of my slump. Make my life worth something again.  _

When John turned to ask Greg, it was clear that wouldn't happen. 

The man looked as if he could commit murder. 

John took a step forward.  _ Was it not right to tackle him? He has no injuries. Just a scrape here and there, but he's young, He'll be right as rain in no time. They were chasing him. _ Greg's hand flew up, stilling John's motions. As he opened his mouth to speak, Greg bulldozed over him, 

"What the hell do you think you're doing here? Huh? You can't just saunter back into his life like nothing happened. You can not do that. Not to him. What? Did you think if you took down a criminal all was well?" John couldn't get a word in sideways. Greg's rant had begun to grow louder, "You can't be here. He is here to be away from you. And I will not deal with the fall out again! You will leave that man alone or so help me, I'll lock you up. I don't know what for, but I swear I'll find a reason! I may not have the resources his brother has, but I will." 

John took a step back as if the words had physically hurt him. He felt like he was falling. Falling down into the abyss. Falling into the chasm that had been created between him and Sherlock. His mind swirling. His stomach-churning. 

Greg shook his head and turned away, briefly stopping to cast a, "Stay away from Sherlock Holmes." Over his shoulder. 

John watched him walk away for a few seconds. The initial shock wore off him.  _ It's true then, Sherlock has completely and wholly rejected you.  _

Forcing his feet to move, John walked back to where he had left Mike. 

Mike stood staring at him. His eyes were shining. Ready to talk about what had happened. John just couldn't. He couldn't talk about Sherlock. He couldn't think about Sherlock. Before Mike could say anything, John mumbled, "Goodbye Mike." With a look of understanding, Mike let John go. 

John walked away from the park. Away from Sherlock Holmes. Away from his chance at life.  _ How had it all gotten to this? _ The phone was still clasped in his hand. He could hear the sounds of his father and mother. But as he held the phone tighter, he heard the five words that had crushed his soul,  _ Stay away from Sherlock Holmes. _

He slipped the phone into his pocket and let his legs carry him away. Carry him to his parents. He looked up to the sky and said, 

"Goodbye, Sherlock Holmes." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the heavy shit.   
> I'm not too sure if I am sorry, now I think about it...


End file.
